


The Quiet and The Confusion

by shapechanger



Series: Late Nights and Early Mornings [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shapechanger/pseuds/shapechanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus' thoughts linger sleeplessly over Tonks, who should be there, but isn't. When she returns late from another Auror mission in an indeterminable series of them, an offering of mutual understanding leads them to his small house on the Yorkshire moors for the remainder of the night.</p><p>(Intended as a continuation of sorts to Tea & Awareness at 3am and All Maps Welcome, but can be read as stand-alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet and The Confusion

_I ought to be used to this by now, yet I'm not._ The note of resignation to this thought, applied as it was to Remus' current situation was undeniable, as was the way his mind continued to climb the walls of the small room that he presently occupied in Grimmauld Place; right into the high ceiling rafters in the attics above that were at their business of catching the hollow kiss of the night wind. He could hear their soft rattle and shift, always written off as 'the house settling' in ordinary conversation, but he rather thought that it was not settling at all. No, the night was an opening, a rift through which all other things could slip, widening from the instant of twilight's half-closed eyes through to the narcotic, dangerous nakedness of full dark. It was illuminated only by a sliver of moon, not yet waxed to ripe fullness. It wasn’t time.

The moment that Remus closed his eyes, everything that he held at a distance during daylight moved into spirals and serpentines, coiling around his lungs and squeezing tight until there was barely enough breath left to...to what, exactly? What did he need breath for when there was no one to speak with at this late hour, here in the bare bones walls of yet another guest room? He found himself missing his own small home. Isolated and remote though it was, it was still his and there was a familiarity to his solitude there, walled in by stacks of books and the quiet. There was a difference between the cold grip of night at Grimmauld Place and the slow bite of frost that lingered in the late hours on the Yorkshire moors, gleaming on the dark greenery of the heather. It didn't bloom until somewhere between July and August, left the area surrounding Remus' house a shade that for some reason he had begun to associate with the colour of hair; soft purple hues that sometimes veered towards pink. That was another reason that he was awake, that his blood hummed with the need to be moving, to be doing. The half-stillness of Grimmauld left him uneasy, and kept him awake, the mattress turning his muscles to knots, and let his mind wander to one Nymphadora Tonks far too easily.

Remus didn't know where she was tonight. That was the crux of the problem, and he hadn't felt so uneasy since she'd finished the double shifts assisting (deliberately misdirecting) the team of Aurors searching for Sirius. The Ministry had sent her away, and he _didn't know_ where she was or why, and it shouldn't have been an issue, but it was. Grimmauld _felt_ empty because it _was_ , because this was something he couldn't watch her back for. During the day, it was easier, because he was occupied with the business of his own missions and objectives, mind tied firmly into the paths of logic that it needed to traverse in order to ensure proper outcomes. Cause and effect were interlocked and it was Remus' business to trace their links, one by one, until he found the place in the chain upon which pressure needed to be applied. Death Eaters meeting in remote places, locations that were spied upon once Remus had verified their presence. More than once, searching out the locations of other werewolves, watched carefully in case they made contact with Fenrir Greyback, or vice versa. Moving underground as well as above, down amongst cold steel and damp concrete in clammy air that never really dried out completely. 

Remus couldn't use warming charms while on such missions; they didn't coordinate with the charms that he used to see in the dark, when his senses hadn't yet been brought into focus by the pull of the moon. One charm tended to counteract the other, for reasons that he was still trying to determine when he had a spare moment. So he spent much of his time underground cold and on edge, eyes flickering to every shadow, mind sharpened to a wide and almost painful awareness of everything around him. There were calloused patches on his wand hand from the frequency with which he was obliged to duel, often slept with it in his hand when he slept at all, because there was nothing about the circumstances that he found himself in which invited rest. Even at Grimmauld, he didn't lay it aside, always kept it within reach. It helped to know that he wasn't the only one.

On a fairly regular basis, he would return to Grimmauld exhausted from those investigations, and it was more often than not that he'd run into Tonks after such a spree, or a few nights of it. How often had she met him with those bright shades to her hair and thrown a blanket at him, drawn him in front of a fire until his faint shivering from hours of cold had stopped? How often had they talked quietly, on and off accompanied by Sirius, until time stopped doing strange things and became something that could shift into rest? Frequently, more frequently than many others likely realised. That was for the better, drew less attention for her sake.

But tonight, she wasn't here when she should have been, had said she would be here, and that troubled him, looped through the chaos of his mind that only came at night. Remus was able to keep a thousand thoughts in his head and still be socially capable under ordinary circumstances, outwardly appearing to be steady and calm. In reality, he could feel his muscles quivering faintly with strain and tiredness and worry, held it in check, maintaining strength and grace both by willpower alone. There was nothing to keep it at bay at that moment, no barrier between him and the rest of his mind, and the rest of his mind seemed determined to focus solely upon Tonks. 

There was always a certain comfort that Remus derived from Tonks' presence, something that made his shoulders loosen minutely whenever she was around. He liked the fact that she had a mischievous streak as wide as Sirius' and his own, took being the object of pranks well and never hesitated to return the favour. He remembered how Sirius had somehow set up a trap specifically so that she'd hit the umbrella stand with unerring accuracy, how she'd actually nearly gone into the thing head-first and landed at Remus' feet in a heap when he'd come down to see what the ruckus was. They'd both seen the faint glassy gleam of the near-invisible trip-wire before it vanished, activated only at Tonks' presence. After he'd helped her up, Tonks had proceeded to enact her vengeance with an unholy look of glee, because once she and Sirius opened fire it was _war_ on varying levels of hilarity and everyone knew it. 

They'd heard the uninhibited trail of his barking laughter from the first landing, where he'd leant over the bannister to watch, and the comment, "You know, Moony, there are other ways to get women to fall at your feet," causing Remus to sputter indignantly (had he _planned_ it that way, damn him, of course he had). She'd drawn her wand and hit Sirius with a hex that locked his jaw without preventing his ability to breathe and a tickling charm in rapid succession before he even had a chance to retaliate, strong enough that he'd fallen over and rolled into a helpless twitching heap. His own attempts to reach for his wand were made futile by the fact that he couldn't even stand for laughing, much less focus enough to cast anything non-verbally. Remus had noted that, that she had been aware of exactly what would prevent Sirius from reacting in the moment and had used it. He'd noted how _fast_ she'd been, her reflexes easily equal to his, excellent aim, now absorbed on a more conscious level. He'd also liked that she'd understood instinctively when enough was enough, released Sirius from the spells and reached to muss up his hair when he'd raised his hands in mock-surrender, still red in the face from laughter. "Next time don't drag Remus into it, you cheeky git." Her admonishment surely hadn't helped the state of Sirius' aching ribs, Remus thought, since it had caused another vibrating echo of laughter that was no longer muffled by his jaw being locked, one that held a suspicious note of victory. Yes, it _had_ been on purpose, Sirius had timed it deliberately, it was obvious.

His thoughts trailed off again, scattering the traces of recent memory, causing him to sigh and shift so that his shoulders were angled against the pillows when they resolved themselves into the vague shape of wondering how she was sleeping tonight, if she was sleeping at all. Usually, Tonks was a source of mingled quiet and confusion and welcome colour before he slipped into sleep, a few rooms and a world away, a thing that his empty palms ached to touch; as though by touching her some of her warmth would seep into him and crack the ice that he held in his chest. Tonight, he could almost feel the lack of her, knew that her sheets would be cold and rumpled and empty if he looked around her bedroom door. His own door was open a crack, as it always was. Strangely, it kept people from intruding far better than a closed door, didn’t invite knocking and entering straight afterwards, usually made them pause. The fact that the door also creaked loudly enough at the hinges that it would wake him if anyone tried to come in uninvited was equally useful, the sound giving enough warning for him to curl fingers tighter around his wand once he woke. Usually, he didn't hear anything but the usual soft clamour of the early risers who stayed at headquarters waking and leaving.

Now, though, Remus heard a soft creak on the landing, steps padding down towards his door. He tensed, automatically stilling his breathing until he heard the faint tap of fingertips and a low whisper. "Remus?"

The bedclothes rustled as he moved to his feet, leaned enough to look around the crack at the door. His wand hand remained out of sight, drawn down by his side, the element of surprise. Fortunately, he recognised the features of the person on the other side, determinedly ignored the way that something in him instantly clicked back into place on doing so. "Tonks, where _were_ you?" The soft question was spoken without thinking, giving away where his mind had been instantly, the gesture that followed out of instinct more than conscious thought as well. He reached out and caught her elbow in gentle fingers to draw her around the door, closed it carefully behind her. In the thin light, he could see hair that should have looked dark in the shadows but didn't, held other subtle hues of auburn when she moved.

"They sent me to Denmark, would you believe?" The words were spoken with a shiver that he felt, connected with the sensation of how cool the material of her cloak had been when he touched her. _She's been outside all night._ "You’re freezing," he said, quietly, the tone not happy, at the same time conscious he didn't have the right to raise objections, even out of concern. "You didn't cast charms?"

"Of course I did, but I couldn't risk drawing attention and my energy was needed on other things, I didn't have time to keep replenishing them." He watched her fold her arms around her middle, was strangely pleased to see that her breath no longer hitched faintly at the motion as it had in weeks previous. She'd been bruised badly along her ribs during a call-out, but was at last healed of the lingering soreness that had lasted far longer than it should have, it seemed. Privately, Remus had thought the actual injury to be more severe, likely to be fractures, but she'd presumably run the diagnostics herself and he'd made his thoughts known when he'd discovered the matter. She knew better than to ignore an injury, and he had chosen to trust that rather than push further. "Sorry I’m late. And for waking you. I just..." There was a softness to the words, one that he didn't often hear during the daylight, where she was almost determinedly bright, her presence easily filling empty spaces with its colour and wit, making others smile, making him smile too. But at night, she was muted down to different shades, and he saw another side to her, something oddly private and fiercely loyal to those she had chosen as hers, something laced with quiet strength that he couldn't hope to match. It had taken him quite some time to realise that somehow he, Remus Lupin, had been included among that small number of people, that he was one of hers to protect and she took that seriously. While on the one hand it had increased his hesitation, on the other, it had meant that he didn't take their shared trust in each other for granted. When he realised he'd been staring at her for far too long without speaking, he reached up and scrubbed at his eyes, drew hands down over his face.

"You don't have to be sorry, Tonks, I was awake. I can't sleep in this damn house half of the time anyway." With a faint shiver of his own, he reached out for her, guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. "If you want to clamber in the blankets and get warm, I can go and see about some tea, if you'd like?" It was, after all, more or less what she did to him every time that he walked in from a mission, an accepted routine by now; between her and Sirius, he'd been told to wake either one or both of them if he came in late, had told her the exact same thing. There had been prior occasions where she hadn't done so, not wishing to disturb their rest, had simply stumbled to her bed and gone to work the next morning. This was the first time she'd taken him up on the offer, and it led him to look at Tonks with eyes that saw more than just the surface when she didn't answer him right away. When she did, it was with a tentative question that didn't match what he had asked. "Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow morning?"

It made him blink, but Remus answered regardless. "No, it's Sunday night, the field rotations have changed a bit this week to accommodate Kingsley covering the Muggle Prime Minister. I don't have to be anywhere until Tuesday evening now."

"Could we...? I don't want to be here." There was a tightness to her voice that added another unspoken sentence to what she had said out loud, one that he heard clearly just the same, one that was familiar to him from both sides, had resulted in many nightly walks around London together after their shared duties had come to an end. _But I don’t want to be alone, either._

 _Neither do I._ Remus studied her closely then, asked the question that had been troubling him. "What happened?"

When Tonks shook her head, he felt his stomach twist sharply, reached out and wrapped his arms around her when he saw her shoulders shake and her head bow forward. There were no tears, she rarely let herself cry, he knew; only an endless trembling that couldn't be contained, not by the walls of Grimmauld Place, probably not by the walls of her own flat, demons that they sometimes shared. They could usually cast them out with a walk around London, ending the night content in one another’s company before they slept, but this felt different. That she didn't have words for what she had seen was clear; though she seemed physically unhurt, the first thing that he would have noticed, she needed recovery time nonetheless to settle her mind, as he did, to balance the weight of living two lives at once. He could help give her that. "A moment," he murmured to her, released her and swept a blanket around her shoulders before he reached for the spell-proofed vest that he usually wore under his clothes to keep common hexes at bay, dragged it over his pyjamas. He tugged on thick socks and his boots, bundled the remainder of his clothing into a bag that tied closed and slung it over his shoulder. Wordlessly, he laid a hand on her back and nudged her to her feet, got them moving down the stairs towards the front door. Once they were on the steps, he opened his arms for her, not a gesture that he'd made more than a couple of times, they'd only rarely needed to use side-along Apparition. "Come with me for a bit? I don't think London is the place for either of us tonight."

Her expression was curious but Tonks didn't question him, simply stepped forward into his space, a show of trust that he didn't think he'd ever get over. Once he had his arms around her, he turned them on the spot and they vanished from the street.

When they reappeared, it was in front of a weather-worn but well-cared for front door to a house, the scent of greenery around them, largely obscuring the house and the path that led to it from outside view, blurring it into the landscape if viewed from a distance. "Hm. Meant to get us into the kitchen." Remus let go of Tonks in order to reach into a pocket on the vest, extracted a key, knowing that bringing her inside the wards with him would ensure her safe passage here, the reason he'd had her close rather than simply taking her arm. He expected the question when it came, this time. "Where are we?"

"This is mine," he said, quietly, wondering for a moment if his own chaotic thoughts had caused him to act foolishly. "My home in Yorkshire, out on the moors." He hadn't grown up here, didn't carry the accent of the area due to moving from place to place with his parents as a child, didn't carry any accent at all, really; that was to his advantage, with the work he often had to do. But this, such as it was, was home, more than any other place, and here he had brought her, where only a few others knew how to find him. He held the door for her, passed in behind her and closed it, nervousness twinging faintly, questioning whether he'd done the right thing or not. He felt the need to explain himself, did so as he moved to switch on the lights. "Neither of us seem to be sleeping well in London, and you don't look as though you're in any condition to be dealing with questions in the morning."

"It's so quiet," Tonks said softly, but there was an unmistakable note of gratitude in her voice that settled in his mind that he had done the right thing. Then he watched as she took in his space for the first time, wondering what she'd see. Piles of books, yes, far too many for the shelving to contain, many stacked up on side-tables and on the floor as well. The small portrait of his parents on the mantelpiece that held only one other photograph, one of the old Order that was sometimes returned to a drawer, for those nights where he couldn't bear to look at it any longer and realise how few of them were left to fight this second war. The desk in the corner with its papers, the letters and assorted other writings organised into trays, spare parchment, quills and ink; he didn't have an owl of his own, he was away too often. Instead he often apparated in order to use the post office in the nearest village, about six miles away. In better weather he walked, letting the sun soak into his skin and the wind tousle his hair into disarray. As he looked upon his house, he realised how glaringly different this location was to Tonks' flat in Brixton, winced at himself slightly for not noticing it sooner. If she had been anyone else, he might have expected a remark about how quaint or rustic his choice of home was. She _wasn't_ like anyone else.

"I can see why you like it here." Her response warmed him, given as it was with a thoughtful expression and a bit of a smile, something that made him happy to see, far better than the quake of trembling he'd felt running through her earlier. That had been his other motivation, not merely to let them rest, but to offer her a distraction, something new upon which to set her mind. Putting the bag down on the floor, he removed his vest and hung it on a hook by the door, held out his other hand for her cloak at the same time, taking it and placing it on another. "It's not much, but it's mine. Not many people know where it is." He was conscious then of her smile, which had suddenly widened, a tinge of wonder to it, knowing that she had read the trust he'd placed in her from his words. "Let's get a fire going, then, and we'll see about some tea and something to snack on from the pantry before we try for rest." With a quirked smile of his own, he moved towards the fireplace, beginning to carefully stack a few pieces of firewood and kindling. The flames caught quickly when he lit it, soon left heat radiating from the grate, and he beckoned her to sit wherever she pleased with a light gesture. All of the chairs were comfortable, worn things that he'd had for years, and he had to suppress another smile when he noticed her eyes wandering towards the books. She was as much a reader as him when she had the opportunity, so he wasn't offended. It was another thing that he felt as physical warmth in the same way that he felt the heat from the fire. "If you want to root around in the books for a bit, you're welcome to."

Unused though he was to sharing his house with someone else, the sudden glimpse of what it might be like, even momentarily, raised a conflict of emotions that he wasn't in any shape to sort through. He didn’t wait for her reply. _Not right now, she doesn’t need this...complication from you, she needs rest._ Rather than deal with it, Remus retreated to the kitchen and rummaged around for something that might do for a snack while the water boiled for tea. His stomach prodded him faintly, a reminder that he'd skipped breakfast for several consecutive days in order to work and only eaten dinner intermittently. "Hm." Poking around the pantry, he turned up with some crackers and rooted around to find the cheese, carefully wrapped and kept cool. It was soft cheese purchased from a nearby farm, pleasant with tea, and he carried the plate out in one hand after he'd spread it on the crackers and added a couple of slices of honey-glazed ham for good measure, the handles of the two tea mugs held in the other. 

When Remus exited the kitchen, the sight that greeted him stilled his movement for a moment. The sight of Tonks, specifically. The blanket from his bed at Grimmauld was still around her shoulders, obviously huddled back into after the removal of her cloak, and she had sat in the armchair nearest to the fire. Her head was bent over a copy of something that looked to be by Tolkien, fingers turning a page every so often, the white scarring on them that she often kept hidden laid bare. The soft orange glow of the firelight picked out the auburn strands in her hair and made them gleam copper, highlighting her face. Not for the first time, it caused a pang in his chest that was perilously close to longing, to wanting something he couldn't have, probably evident in his expression too. It was something that he carefully concealed when he deliberately trod on a floorboard that would make just enough noise to get her attention. Roused from her reverie, Tonks looked sheepish for a moment before he smiled at her, moved and set the tea and the plate of crackers down nearby to share. There was a level of peace in her face that had been absent when she had entered his room at Grimmauld Place less than an hour prior, and he was relieved to have been able to offer her that much.

"Thank you, Remus." And it was obvious that she didn't just mean the tea and the small amount of food.

"You're welcome." There was no stiffness in his voice, only understanding offered in the same way that she had given it to him, time and time again. Part of Remus wanted to lean over and touch her face, close the distance that he tried to hold so carefully between them at times that it felt artificial, untrue to what he actually felt. He didn't do that, but when he saw her starting to nod over her book a little over twenty minutes later, he did reach over and touch briefly to her shoulder. "You should go to bed, Tonks."

There was a rub at her eyes, a gesture he'd seen Tonks make many times, and he watched as she carefully set the book aside from where it still rested open in her lap. "So should you," came the gentle retort. "I'll be fine out here."

"That you won't. You can have my bed." He moved then and tugged at her hands, quietly determined to see her settled into bed, ignoring his own shivering sensation of tiredness. Tonks, however, didn't, observant to the last, moving closer as he drew her to her feet.

"You're shaking the way that I was earlier." Her hands caught his wrist and smoothed down the muscles on the inside of his arm, and he felt them relax slowly at the faint brush of tingling magic from her fingertips. "You're as tired as I am, so stop being a lunatic and come sleep."

Remus wasn't quite sure how it happened, but they found their way into his bedroom and settled into the blankets and sheets of his bed, softer than the mattresses at Grimmauld which have the consistency of gravel unless carefully spelled. At some point she'd discarded the extra blanket, had likely left it out on the sofa, and she was warm against him when he shifted. Her back was to his chest; she could have left more space between them, but she hadn't, and that realisation was heavy at the front of his thoughts. At long last he gave in and let his face fall, rest at the nape of her neck as his arms folded around her waist. He was pushing the boundaries again, _shouldn’t have been_ , but the way that she sighed softly and curled closer back against him justified him remaining exactly where he was, because it wasn't unwanted. It wasn't the first time they'd fallen asleep together, but to do so in his bed was a completely different level of intimacy, one that both of them might have examined more closely if they hadn’t been exhausted. Sleepy confusion reigned over Remus' mind before he surrendered ( _I shouldn’t be doing this_ ), to the welcome quiet of home and to the woman in his arms, falling asleep before he could continue deciphering exactly what it was he felt for her, had felt for quite some time, and how it had become this.

**Author's Note:**

> "You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart."  
> Franz Kafka, _Letters to Felice_.
> 
> I recently happened upon the above quote from Kafka, and it prompted me to write something in response. This is the result, and I hope that someone perhaps enjoys it.


End file.
